


Delta Blues

by Imogen_Penn



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I have never been to Memphis, Smut, Universe Alterations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:06:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imogen_Penn/pseuds/Imogen_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's been driven back to a part of his past he'd rather forget. But maybe this time a city that's brought him nothing but bad will relent and give him something better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue as a boy can be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Britt1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britt1975/gifts).



> So Universe Alterations is really just me playing fast and loose with Hawkeye's actual back story. Just roll with it, it'll be fine :)
> 
> Also, this one is for you Britt, in apology for all the anxiety and because you wanted Clint/Darcy smut :)

Put on my blue suede shoes and I boarded the plane  
Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues in the middle of the pouring rain  
W.C. Handy, won't you look down over me  
Yeah I got a first class ticket but I'm as blue as a boy can be

-          Walking in Memphis (Mark Cohn)

 

Clint hopped off the military transport plane and was immediately damp right through to his bones.

It was raining in that way it did when it was too hot to rain properly; like you were swallowing more than breathing. He floundered, the murky dank smell that rose off the Mississippi sinking through him like a weight.

He would swear he could smell the thunder in the air, just waiting for the heat to break, just for a moment. He knew, tonight, the rain would come down in buckets and the heat would let up for one breath, just a hiccupping sigh of relief before the winds off the gulf made it almost unbearable to be outside.

He had spent years in the desert, sand ground into crevices he didn’t even know he had, mouth perpetually dry, feeling himself evaporating away. But nothing compared to this.

He regretted coming almost at once.

He hadn’t been to Memphis all that often, really, only when the circus had come through. But each time there had been shady bars and underhanded deals and getting Buck Chisolm out of one sort of trouble or another, usually not without a new scar or two.

Memphis is where he learned to be scared. Not for the first time, not by a long shot, but constantly with the alertness that kept him alive and turned his stomach and made his hands shake for days.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and willed them to be still.

He was a grown man now, not a boy anymore. And Buck Chisolm was dead. He stood in front of the stone edifice, checking the address on a slip of paper. Buck’s last request: Go see a man in Memphis.

The building was still open, it was just past five, but he turned away instead. He found a hotel, just on the right side of seedy, but he didn’t really think he was going to get any sleep tonight.

He pulled on the most broken down pair of jeans he owned and a t-shirt he knew would be sticking to him by the time he got to the end of the street and went out in search of a drink.

Not too far down the street, he found just the right sort of dive. The sort of grittiness that comes with age, not ill intentions. He sympathized.

He pulled up to the ancient bar, surface chipped and gummed, brass rails tarnished and dull. He dropped a head in his hand and almost didn’t look up when he heard the bartender say, “I’d ask ya if you had a bad day, but you don’t seem like much of a talker.”

He paused for a moment, cocking his head. The voice was familiar in a distant sort of way, the roll of a Southern accent almost completely missing, like she’d been hiding it for years.

He looked up.

“Oh!” she exclaimed in instant recognition. “Hello you,” she smiled at him. And he realized that she knew better than to say his name out loud. She’d probably signed just as many waivers and gone to as many confidentiality seminars as he had. Or at least should have.

“Darcy Lewis,” he said with a surprisingly genuine smile. “Of all the gin joints in all the world,” he drawled lethargically.

“You walked into mine,” she agreed with a wide grin. “Although I wouldn’t recommend the gin.” She made a little face, and damned if he didn’t feel a bit lighter.

“What’s good?” he asked.

“Got some good local beers,” she said, “and a surprisingly good collection of top shelf whisky.” She gestured up at the bar behind her.

He took a quick look. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew enough to know she wasn’t exaggerating.

“Who stocks it?” he asked, “They’ve got good taste.”

She grinned, wide and smug, “I do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “This your place?”

“Not hardly,” she said, ever so slightly sourly, “but it might as well be. The owner knows better than to get in my way by now.”

“I’ll bet,” he agreed easily, “Well as impressive as the collection is, I think I better at least start out with a beer.”

She turned to pour his drink immediately. There wasn’t really much of anyone else around to take up her time, so she turned back to him.

“So,” she said placing the icy cold draft in front of him, “dare I ask what you’re doing here? Should I be heading out to visit my parents or something?”

“No no,” he reassured her, “nothing like that. I’m here on…personal business.”  He was beginning to think that maybe he should go find another bar. He remembered her as being a nice enough girl, but he really wasn’t into talking out his problems right now.

“And you don’t want to talk about it.” Darcy said. It wasn’t even a question.

He must have looked a bit slack jawed, because she rolled her eyes.

“I’m a bartender, you think I can’t read that deer in headlights stare of yours?” she scoffed at him.

Come to think of it, he seemed to remember her as much more of a _girl_. All baggy sweaters and scarves and heavy boots and defensiveness.  But _this_ Darcy Lewis, the one behind the bar in a black cotton dress that hugged her hips like sin and was cut low enough to make him stare. And, more importantly, the confident rake of her lips as she stared right back.

She had turned into a _woman_ somewhere along the way, hot blooded and sharp edged.

He grinned at her unapologetically, it was no embarrassment to be caught staring at a woman like her, but he knew better than to take a second look without being invited. Even when she was a girl, she’d had a lot of steel in her for a civilian.

“I suppose all my training is useless against your years behind the bar,” he drawled at her, leaning comfortably against the high backed stool.

“Oh please,” she scoffed at him, “you just weren’t expecting a girl like me to know much, were ya?”

“Show’s what I know,” Clint agreed easily. “Don’t think I’d ever expect a girl like you to end up in a place like this at all.”

“Something wrong with this place?” the edge in her voice was a warning and he caught it quickly.

“Nothing, it’s just that last time I saw you it was New Mexico and life was a bit more exciting.”

Her sharp edges smoothed out, and he guessed he must have said something right, though damned if he knew what it was.

“I’ve had just about enough of your brand of excitement for one lifetime,” she said with a grin. “I ended up in Norway with Jane for a bit as a result of that whole New York thing and after that I lit it on home.”

“And now you work in a bar?” he knew he was prodding at the edge of her tolerance, and there was a streak of orneriness in him that didn’t care, but mostly he was curious how an obviously bright girl working for one of the world’s leading astrophysicists ended up working in a dive bar in Memphis.

“Yeah,” she said in a weary sort of voice, “I work in a bar, a bar that I manage and I’m saving up to buy. A bar that’s been spitting out profit every month since I took it over. And I sit on committees, and I volunteer a lot, and I own my own apartment. I have a _home._ ” She looked away irritably as a group of men, younger than him, and far better dressed, walked in through the front door. She looked back with an unreadable expression. “What do you have, Barton?”

She left him chewing on that as she went to help the other customers, all smiles and easy charm like she hadn’t just set him down harder that anyone he could remember, outside of Natasha of course.

The worst part is that she was dead right. He could see the appeal of this place, of regulars who knew your name and  streets where people waived when you walked by and stability and no one shooting at you or scooping your brain out of your head and making you kill every other goddam week.

His growing gloom as he contemplated his own life must have shown on his face, because she walked back over with a fresh pint and an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” she said, her voice soft and comfortable again, “I just get a lot of the same from Jane and Eric, I suppose I’m a bit trigger happy on the subject.”

He grinned at the metaphor, “I can understand it,” he said, “I also get why you defend it like that.” He felt like he needed to apologize, and it’s all he could call on as an excuse for the level of truth that slipped out next. “There’s a rush, you know, a clarity and focus just living your life for the next target. You forget that there’s a lot to be said for just _living_. I haven’t done it in a long time.”

He was looking at her, straight in the eyes, and she was looking back. He liked a woman who would look you in the eyes like that. And he knew that this woman wasn’t playing some game, she just simply and incredibly had nothing to hide.

“So this personal business, that’s what’s getting to you? That’s why you’re sitting here without a target?” a hint of a grin curled the corner of her lip and pulled all of Clint’s considerable focus.

He took a chance.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he pulled his gaze back up to her eyes, focused on her like she was the only thing in the world, like a hard shot in bad conditions.

A slow smile crossed her face. “I don’t think you have the aim,” her accent rolled stronger over the syllables as she looked at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, hoping with an intensity that surprised him that it was.

“It might be,” she pushed away from the counter with an appraising look, and then tucked her head to the side, a little smile, sweeter than he would have expected, crossing her lips like she was trying to force it back.

“Darcy!” a strong masculine voice called out from the door as another group came in.

“You might have a little competition from the regulars though,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the front.

After five minutes of watching her, he knew that wasn’t the case. She knew what she was doing, never leaning in too close or talking to one person too long, shutting down anyone who took a shot. This was her place of business, and she was good at what she did.

It wasn’t a crowded night, mid week with bad weather looming, but she was kept busy as he nursed a beer. He found it fascinating just watching her. She moved easily, clearly comfortable here. There was almost an art to it, the sure and strong way she pulled a tap or poured a drink. Her running chatter with everyone at the bar, quick to laugh and never needing to look away to see what her hands were doing, made it clear why even on a Tuesday there was a loyal after work crowd.

He was used to being surrounded by people with spectacular talents. It made him think, sometimes, that the things people did with normal lives were unimpressive. Now, he thought, maybe he just hadn’t been looking hard enough.

It was nearing eleven when the bar starting clearing out and he hadn’t said more than two words to her in over an hour, but she had been watching him too. And so he let himself smile with slow anticipation as she walked back over to him.

“You’re still here,” it wasn’t a question or an accusation, she sounded pleased.

“It’s a nice place,” he said, leaning in over the counter, “manager must really know what she’s doing.”

“Rumor has it,” she rested her hip against the counter with an easy grin.

“Closing up?” he tried for casual, but there was an electricity about her that was making it hard.

“Just got one stubborn customer to kick out,” she raised an eyebrow and turned back to a panel of switched behind the bar, flicking off the front lights and the open sign.

He couldn’t read her, and that made her a challenge. And the way her hip was cocked under her hand and the curve of her mouth made him nervous. Still, what did he have to lose?

“S’dark out,” he said, sliding off the stool, “I’ll walk you home?”

“Alright,” she said slowly, closing down the rest of the lights and grabbing her jacket and bag from behind the bar. She was quiet as they left, and Clint made himself stick his hands in his pockets to keep from taking her hand.

“So,” she said finally, “How long are you in town?” it was a loaded question. His answer would make very clear his intentions towards her.

“A day or two,” he said, almost apologetically. “I just have to see this guy…don’t exactly know when.”

There was another pause.

“So you’ve got some time on your hands,” she was looking up at him now, her eyes wide and questioning.

“Yeah,” he said with a slow smile, daring to walk a little closer.

“You ever been to Graceland?” her grin was sharp and teasing.

He tossed his head back and laughed. He’d be happy just to keep on being surprised by her for a day or two, if nothing else.

“No, I have never been to Graceland,” he said honestly.

“Well that’s just a shame. Can’t come to Memphis and not see Graceland.” She slipped her arm through his, her hip bumping up against him. “I’ll take you tomorrow,” she said firmly, then paused. “I mean, if you have the time.”

“I’ve got the time,” he said, looking down at her with something like affection bubbling up in his gut.

Just then, the heat broke and the skies opened up and the rain that had been threatening made good, dousing them like a damn had burst.

He pulled her alongside him, sprinting for the overhang of the closest building, but she tugged his arm back, dragging him to a stop.

“Wait,” she said breathlessly, hair sticking in wet tendrils to her cheeks, “wait”

It was the look on her face more than the words that stopped him. She closed her eyes, turned her face up to the downpour and smiled. Clint had never seen anyone look that…peaceful.

He took another chance.

He reached out, his fingers skimming up her arm, watching as the tracking rivulets of water changed course under his hands. He waited for her to pull away, but her eyes stayed shut and her smile grew wider.

He stepped in closer, his hand slipping behind her head, cupping her neck and tangling in her hair. He felt the weight of her head in his hand. He brought his other hand to her hip and she shuddered. He moved in front of her so he could feel the heat radiating off her through his damp clothes and she sucked in a breath. He pressed in against her and the little noise of want she made in the back of her throat damn near undid him.

“Darcy” he whispered softly at her, and she tipped her head up. He felt the strong column of her neck move against his hand and something about it made him weak in the knees. “I…”

He never got to finish the thought, and for the life of him couldn’t remember what it was afterwards, because she pressed her mouth against his, the warm summer rain running down her face and her hands wringing the soaked material of his t-shirt and he almost forgot to breathe.

The way the rain made the fabric of their clothes stick and pull and the way it made his fingers slide over her skin as he clutched her arms was like a short circuit. Her mouth opened under his and he took the invitation immediately, hungry to taste her. Her teeth pulled at his lower lip and nipped at his tongue as he fought to press closer and closer to her, farther and farther into her. Even with the break in the heat and the rain, he was on fire.

It was a long moment before he pulled away, breath coming in ragged gasps.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Her dress clung to her skin like it wasn’t even there and his mouth went dry.

“We…we should get inside,” his voice broke like he was seventeen, but it was okay because it brought a swift grin to her face.

“You should probably get me out of these wet clothes,” she agreed, absolutely straight faced.

He let out a low “Oh my god,” before his hands went to her hips and he pulled her flush against him again, so she could feel how goddam much he wanted this. He kissed her like it was his last chance, not wanting to hold back or be gentle. And she responded with almost bruising force, her fingers running through his hair and pulling at his scalp.

They broke apart with a gasp.

“I don’t live far,” she said, grabbing his hand. He followed along behind her, happy to obey. “Just the end of the block.”

By the time they reached her building, an old and graceful apartment block, the rain was beginning to slow. He pressed up behind her as she fumbled for her keys, pressing his face against the smell of the rain in her hair.

“Clint,” his name left her lips like a whisper, and he realized it was the first time she had said it.

Instead of answering, he took her keys from her limp fingers and jammed them into the lock, opening the door as he spoke against the damp skin of her neck. “What number?”

“3C” she breathed.

And he was done waiting. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulde, one hand firmly and very intentionally against the swell of her ass. She let out a little squeek of alarm, but quickly started working her hands under the waistband of his jeans.

He took the stairs two at a time and set her down outside her door, pressing her against the wall and kissing her soundly as he unlocked her apartment with one hand. He tumbled through the entrace, pulling her after him, and as the door closed behind them, the frantic pace of the rush to be here slowed and the moment hung in the air like an hour.

Clint was never a man to second guess a gift, but he also preferred his women willing, so he casually toed off his shoes, pulled his fingers through her damp hair and asked her, “I’d really like to make you fall apart, if that’s alright with you.”

“Clint Barton,” she blinked up at him with a grin, “I think you may secretly be a bit of a gentleman.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he mumbled against the skin of her neck as he bent down. He could taste the rain on her skin.

“I won’t,” she said a little breathlessly as Clint slipped a hand up the back of her damp thigh, “if you get on with that whole falling apart thing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gave her his best rakish grin and hoisted her up with his hands under her thighs, her flats clattering to the floor. He pressed her up against the wall, his hands rucked up under the hem of her dress, already hard where he pressed into her, but he was determined to take this slow. The press of his hips into hers freed up his hands for more important things and he worked his fingers up her ribcage to cup the firm weight of one breast in his hand while he methodically set to work exploring her mouth. He pulled her lower lip between his teeth, pressed his tongue against hers, tested the sharp line of her teeth, and was gratified when she pulled away gasping as his thumb brushed over her nipple, pressing up through the damp cotton of her bra.

He meant to focus on her, he really did, but he couldn’t help himself from jerking his hips forward with a little grunt when her hands pressed down over his ass and he felt the pressure of her fingers through his jeans, the reach of her arms pushing her breasts into his chest.

He dropped his face to the damp curve where her neck met her shoulders and took a breath. Darcy took the opportunity to work her hand down in the space between them and cup him through the wet denim, and the feel of her hot hand through the cold of the clinging fabric made his cock twitch.

“So that’s how you wanna play it, huh?” he growled at her, rasping the edge of her teeth against her skin and pressing in against her hand.

“Looks like,” she gave him a breathless smirk before tangling her free hand in his hair and pulling his mouth down onto her with a firm tug that sent tingles of arousal down his spine.

He wrapped his hands under her thighs again, spinning her around so he could take a few stumbling steps. It took him a moment, preoccupied as he was, to realize he didn’t exactly know where he was going.

“Door on the left,” Darcy whispered as she bent to pull his earlobe between her teeth.

He set her on her feet the moment he walked them through the door of the bedroom, his hands still on her hips under her dress.

“I think you said something,” he paused to capture her mouth for a filthy kiss, “about getting you out of your wet clothes.”

She grinned, sharp and electric, and tugged the sodden dress over her head in one smooth motion. Clint was fairly certain he got a lot stupider, looking at the sight in front of him. Her wet skin glowed in the dim light coming through the window, and her curves were barely contained in simple black cotton, somehow more enticing than any lace or satin he had ever seen.

He thought he managed to make some sort of appreciative noise before he had to put his hands on her, drawn as if like magic. It wasn’t like Clint hadn’t had his fair share of women. A few nights here or there, releasing the tension of a mission in soft and wiling flesh. But it had been a long time since a woman tugged at his control like this.

He had meant to be slow, he had meant to be focused, pull her apart piece by piece, but he was shaking as he ran his fingertips over the planes and curves of her ribs, dipped across her lower back to rest on the swell of her ass.

“Shouldn’t a sniper have steadier hands,” her voice was low and teasing as she pushed his shirt up his ribs. He grabbed the hem and helped her pull it off, as a somewhat surprising bubble of laughter escaped him.

“Usually what I got in my sights is significantly farther off,” he pulled her against him, the press of her breasts on the bare skin of his chest sending an arrow of need down to his ready cock. And then, almost as an afterthought, “and a hell of a lot less appealing.”

“Oh yeah?” her tone was innocent, but her arm curled around his neck and her hip hitched up against his and he could feel the easy fit and press of her cunt against him. He let out a low groan as she rolled her hips, leaning her head to bit sharply against his shoulder.

“’bout the same level of dangerous though,” he said breathlessly.

“You gotta watch out for us southern girls,” she drawled, pulling away and taking two steps back until her knees hit the edge of her bed. And then, with a wicked smirk, she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor.”

Clint swallowed heavily. “I’m gettin’ that.”

It wasn’t that he’d never been with a woman who really knew what he did before. There’d been a few, not the least of which was Natasha, and none of them had ended particularly well. Too much intensity, everything was life or death in that sort of a relationship. Far more often he found himself being some girl’s one night stand, or week long fling with a military man. Those fell to the other end of the spectrum, no real connection beyond the physical, not a speck of seriousness about them.

The combination of a woman who knew what he did but was lighthearted enough to _tease_ , he was finding, was far more of a turn on than it should have been.

He pulled himself together and advanced on her with a focused and feral grin, “one thing you gotta learn about _this_ sniper though.”

Darcy raised a questioning eyebrow.

He picked her up with an arm behind her knees and a hand on her back, tossing her easily to the bed and falling over her, arms braced at her sides, his erection firmly slotted against the crux of her thighs.

“I _never_ miss a mark.”

He dragged himself down her body until he could smell her, her panties more soaked with her own arousal rather than the rain. Darcy let out a low groan as he nuzzled against her center and immediately lifted her hips in invitation. He liked a woman who sought her own pleasure as much as his. And he was more than happy to oblige.

He dragged her panties down her legs slowly, drawing a whine of frustration from her as he sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin of her thighs. Grinning, he licked into her cunt. He dragged the flat of his tongue up until a breathy cry and a jerk of her hips told him that he had acquired his target. Carefully and methodically, he began working her closer and closer to the edge. The taste of her flowed sharp and tangy across his tongue and her hips pressed rhythmically into his face. The little helpless noises she was making in breathy bursts were shooting straight to his cock, but he wasn’t going to go off mission, not when she was so close.

He slipped two fingers into her tight heat, groaning against her sex at the slick squeeze of her walls, unable to keep from imagining how it would feel wrapped around his dick. Curling his fingers, he slowly rocked his hand into her until he found the spot that made her hips thrust desperately upwards. He renewed his careful assault on her clit and it was only moments until she was jerking out of control and calling out his name as she came on his hand and against his mouth.

He didn’t even try to conceal the self-satisfied grin as he pulled gently away and drew himself up her relaxed form, taking in her unfocused gaze.

“You,” she said breathlessly, reaching towards his waist, “are still wearing pants.” She gave a little frown as she tried to unbuckle his belt with shaking hands.

He shook his head in amusement, “well, I clearly didn’t do my job right if you’re still thinking that coherently.” He dipped his head and kissed her, sure she could taste herself on his tongue.

“Oh you did your job just fine,” she drawled with a grin, managing to successfully unbutton his jeans, “mission accomplished and then some.” She slipped her hand inside his briefs, her fingers wrapping around his hard length. “I would just really like for you to fuck me now.”

Clint let his head drop back with a groan as her thumb circled around the head of his cock, spreading the slick fluid she found there. He couldn’t help but press into her hand as she carefully fisted his length, pulling with slow strokes.

He let out a muttered “ _fuck_ ” before swiftly pinning her hands above her head. “God _damn_ woman,” he said, before bending to suck a peaked nipple into his mouth. He paused to shove his jeans and briefs down his legs and kick them off. Finally, _finally_ , he settled against her, skin to skin, the slick evidence of her orgasm hot against his erection.

He found, as he looked at Darcy, her lips parted, pupils blown, but her gaze focused and intent, that the teasing and frantic energy settled and the moment moved slow like honey, drawn out and peaceful as he shifted his hips and guided himself into her.

The breath left the both of them in a rush, a little sigh of fit and pleasure, and he just rested, locked tight within her, looking her in the eye. He wasn’t entirely sure what he saw there, but he was sure it was complex, maybe complicated, definitely drawing him in.

She smiled at him, just a little thing, the corner of a lip curling, light dancing in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but answer it. He bent to kiss her, hard and deep and fast, his hips pulling slowly in shallow thrusts. But she wasn’t content with that. She pushed him, hips canted up towards him, hands pulling at his hair, her breath in his ear urging him for harder, faster, _more_.

She pushed at his shoulder, tucking a knee behind his and rolling, coming to rest on his hips, his cock still deep within her. The first roll of her hips had him biting his lip, his fingers digging into her generous hips. Her hands came up to cup her breasts, fingers rolling her hard nipples as she rode his cock. He rose to meet her with each thrust, the angle clearly working her closer with gasps and sighs as her aching heat and the snap of her hips were pulling him right to the edge with her.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he breathed, as she arched her back, pulling him deeper into her and thrusting her breasts upwards, “I’m close,” his hands scrabbled at her back. He was sure he was leaving marks, but he didn’t care “ _Fuck_ you’re gonna make me come.”

Her only response was a strangled moan, and she reached a hand down to press against her clit, the other tangling in her hair as her movements became jerky and uncoordinated. He could see it, the moment she tensed and froze, her inner walls clenching around him and her hips twitching as she shuddered through her orgasm.

He didn’t wait until her body relaxed, but flipped them over, hitched her hip up against her chest, and slammed into her, fingers digging into soft flesh, breath coming in ragged gasps as he fucked her through the last flutters of her orgasm. It was only seconds before he shouted her name, vision greying out as he thrust through his release, pulling her down on him, pushing up into her like he never wanted to leave.

They lay breathless for a long moment, he could feel her heartbeat racing against his chest, but her hand was soft and soothing against his scalp. Eventually, he let out a reluctant sigh and pulled his softening dick from her, turning in his side and tucking her gently against him.

“Hmmmm,” she let out a dreamy noise as she settled back under the curve of his arm.

It was quiet for a long time, no sound but the distant noise of traffic and the low murmur of summer insects outside the window. Eventually, his breathing slowed and a slow heavy feeling of satisfaction settled over him. He didn’t sleep though, content to watch his fingers as they played over the skin of her belly and thigh, drawing nonsense patterns and tracing her smooth lines. It had been a long time since it had felt this good, this _easy_ to lie in bed with a woman. He wasn’t about to give a moment of it up.

Eventually, she shifted, lying on her front, one leg tucked over his, propped on an elbow, her profile silhouetted in the dim light.

 “I used to watch you in New Mexico you know,” she was watching him pretty intently right now as well, he grinned as he watched her trace the firm lines of his stomach.

“I know,” he said easily, because he wasn’t called Hawkeye for nothing.

She huffed out a little half embarrassed laugh, her body moving against his where she lay pressed against his hip. “Figures,” she mumbles.

“I always thought you were kinda cute,” he says, tipping her chin up to look at him, because there was something intriguing about the way she was clearly so confident in the way she had moved on top of him, under him, around him, but could still get embarrassed by an old crush. “You were just such a kid back then.” He said honestly.

“I guess so,” she agreed easily, resting her chin on his chest, “I couldn’t quite wrap my head around you guys as _people_ you know? Suits and weapons and that crazy intensity.”

Clint frowned a little, because he didn’t really like the idea of Darcy thinking of him like that “and now?”

“Well, I like to think I’ve done a bit of growing up,” she smiled up at him in a way that made something deep in his gut do an unexpected little flip, “and now you’re just some guy in my bar.” She gave him a cheeky smirk before she pressed her lips against the strong curve of his chest.

“You’ve _definitely_ gotten a lot more mouthy,” Clint laughed, hoisting her by her hips so she lay splayed out on top of him, letting out a little huff as he felt her naked heat against his cock again. He was mildly surprised to find himself just about ready for round two. He was certainly no teenager any more, but this woman…

She rocked against him with a little muffled sound and Clint let his head drop back against the pillows with a groan.

“Mouthy, am I?” she let out in a low tone, running her teeth across the exposed skin of his neck. “I’ll show _you_ mouthy,” he looked up in time to see her sinful grin before she slid down between his knees, wrapped her small hand around the base of his cock, and lowered her mouth to wrap her lips around his head.

“ _Fuck_ Darcy,” he let out in a low growl.

Whatever he had expected to find in Memphis, this was a whole hell of a lot better.


	2. Boy You've got a Prayer in Memphis

They've got catfish on the table  
They've got gospel in the air  
And Reverend Green be glad to see you  
When you haven't got a prayer  
But boy you've got a prayer in Memphis

-          Walking in Memphis (Mark Cohn)

The heat was already high by the time Clint blinked himself awake. Huh. That was odd. Long habit meant that he didn’t exact tend to sleep soundly away from home. But as he looked over at the clock beside the bed, he saw it was past 9:30 in the morning.

“There’s coffee,” came an amused voice from the doorway, “if you want it.” Darcy was wearing nothing more than panties and a camisole. The sight of her, creamy skin glowing under the morning light coming in from the kitchen windows behind her, made his blood rush south. He was already beginning to hate the thought of leaving. And wasn’t _that_ a kicker, given that Memphis wasn’t exactly full of good memories. Well, at least it hadn’t been.

He figured he might as well make the most of it while he could.

“In a minute,” he drawled, his voice still scratchy with sleep. “I have something real important to tell you first,” he propped himself up and tried to look innocent.

Darcy, to her credit, didn’t look like she bought it for a single second. But she ambled over to the side of the bed anyways. “What’s that?”

He swiftly tugged her arm so she tumbled onto the bed and he used the momentum to roll himself over her, braced above her with what was probably an insufferably cocky smirk on his face, but he didn’t care. “You forgot to put pants on,” he said. “I thought you should know.”

“You’re very helpful,” she said in a bored tone, but there was color high on her cheeks, and she tilted her hips up into his. “You,” she said, tracing a finger down his spine, “seem to have forgotten to put on _anything at all_.”

Clint looked down at himself in mock surprise. “is that a fact? Well,” he lowered himself until his growing erection was pressed against the damp crotch of her panties, “I suppose I’ll have to do something about that.

+

+

It was almost 11 by the time they had had breakfast, showered, and put on some actual clothes (not necessarily in that order) so it was _hot_ by the time they set out for Beale to get a shuttle to Graceland.

“You seriously want to go to Graceland?” Clint asked as they strolled along, slinging an arm over her shoulders because why the hell not if he felt like it?

“I’m frankly a little offended by the fact you’ve been in the city before and haven’t gone,” said Darcy with a grin, settling her arm across his hip, and easily settling into rhythm beside him as they walked, “it’s like a terrible right of passage or something.”

“Well I wasn’t exactly taking any grade school field trips when I was here,” he said.

“What were you doing exactly?” it was a natural question, and one he had pretty much set her up for. That was odd. Even odder is that he was pretty sure he was going to answer her with the truth.

“Uh,” he reached his free hand up to run the back of his neck, “I was in the circus actually. We came through Memphis a lot for a few years.”

“Seriously?” but she sounded kind of _excited_ rather than weirded out. “What did you do? Oh, actually that’s a dumb question isn’t it?” She pressed into his shoulder, “where else are you gonna pick up your particular skill set.”

She paused, a little falter in her step and a tensing of her shoulders that Clint felt more than saw. “Oh my _god_.”

He looked down at her quizzically.

“I _saw_ you!”

“Oh come on,” he rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm, “there are lots of circuses. Or at least there were.”

“No, I really think it was you,” she gave his hip a little squeeze, “purple tights right?”

Clint gave her a sharp look. “Oh my god.” Of course his was closer to embarrassment than hers had been.

“I remember thinking that you were just the _coolest_ thing. I couldn’t have been more than 7, which would have put you at, what, like 20?”

“16” he said automatically, and it should really stop surprising him that she wasn’t phased by things like him obviously knowing what year she was born in without having to ask.

“Must be fate,” she said with a grin as they arrived at the bus stop.

+

+

The appeal of Graceland was not in the building itself. That was kitch and memorabilia, everything for sale. It was more the way Darcy would lean in and whisper the more interesting bits of history in his ear while the tour guide droned on, and the way she brushed up against him as they walked, the way she didn’t seem to care how obvious she was making it that they were under each other’s skins.

And her ease and affection was working its way through him, so that even in this very public place, Clint didn’t care either.

He didn’t really notice how far she had worked her way in until the tour guide offered to let Darcy take the jungle room for a spin with a leer, and his hands were itching.

Darcy grinned at his tense expression and took one of his hands in hers. “Don’t worry,” she whispered up against his ear, and he could feel the hot puff of air on his skin shivering all the way down his spine, “he tries that with all the girls.”

“Not mine, he doesn’t,” he muttered back into her hair, and then froze.

“I mean…” Christ, how was he going to get himself out of this one. He could just _see_ Natasha’s face. _Think first, speak later Barton_. “Not that you’re…”

“Relax,” she was smiling up at him, but there was steel behind her eyes, “I get it. No one needs to tell me that I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”

+

+

“So,” they were ambling back towards the bus to head for town. “I should probably go take care of this business I’ve got,” he said reluctantly. She hadn’t released his hand since the jungle room, and he didn’t much feel like letting it go.

She made a soft noise that could have been agreement. “I should swing by the bar anyways. The owner tends to come by in the afternoons to drink the booze and steal from the register.”

She sounded a little too tense for the loose limbed force of nature she’d been for the last almost 24 hours.

“You need a hand with that?” he asked casually, more than willing to stand around and look tough for her. Sounded a lot more fun than dealing with the piece of paper currently burning a hole in his back pocket.

“Naw,” she said, and he could see her force her shoulders to relax. “Just…can’t wait till I can actually buy the guy out, you know?”

“You getting close?” it wasn’t even faked interest. He was starting to think maybe it could be an okay idea to have a great little watering hole to visit in Memphis.

“Not close enough,” she tried for casual, but she wasn’t quite pulling it off.

“Hey,” he pulled her to a stop, turning her to face him, “everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she forced a little smile, “Just getting sick of being dependant on the biggest asshole on this side of the city for a job when I’m the one who’s making him all the money.” She blew out a little breath of frustration and he just tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking at her patiently.

“I just…I don’t want kids, never did.”

Clint blinked a bit in surprise, because that was not exactly where he thought this conversation had been going.

She grinned at him, a little more genuine this time, “I mean, I think it’s really admirable, I do. But I’ve got four siblings all younger than me and I’ve lived enough of my life for other people, you know? New Mexico was the start of it all. I was living at home, helping out ma, going to school, and I just got sick of it. Took the internship and took off.”

There was a kind of wild excitement in her eyes, even at the memory of it. And Clint thought he knew exactly what she was feeling, that freedom of _owning_ a decision.

“And I could have my own life here, I really could. I just want to, god, I don’t know, be my own person I guess? I don’t want to settle down, I don’t want to compromise _my_ life for someone else’s, and I certainly do not want to work one more goddam day for the stupid goddam prick who own _my_ bar.”

He grinned a wide grin as she worked up a good head of steam.

“Darce,” he leaned in and kissed her, just quickly, on the side of her mouth, because he could see carefully pulling her fierce independence back away, and he didn’t want her to hide that, not from him. “You’re sort of magnificent, you know?”

+

  
+

“Mr. Barton,” the man in the ill fitting suit was back, looking at Clint warily. He must have known Buck then. “Everything seems to be in order.”

“Great,” he answered laconically, “What exactly is it that is in order?”

The man looked nonplussed. “Mr. Chisolm’s bequest to you Mr. Barton. Is there anywhere particular you would like it deposited? Or would you prefer bearer bonds.”

Clint let out a heavy sigh and pulled a pad of paper over to him, scribbling down the number to his secured SHIELD account. “Just transfer it there. Am I done?”

Just like Buck, he thought as he scuffed back up the road towards Darcy’s bar. Drag a man all the way down to Memphis to leave him a bit of probably ill gotten money that wouldn’t even cover the trip.

His phone pinged with a message. Transfer must have gone through. He dragged it out of his pocket and swiped the screen. Maybe it would at least cover a healthy glass of one of those top shelf whiskeys.

He almost dropped his phone when he saw the number.

He did let out a heartfelt “holy shit” under his breath.

“$2.6 _million_ dollars Buck?” he muttered disbelievingly to himself as he forced himself to keep moving. “Where the fuck did you get that kind of money?”

He supposed in the end, it didn’t really matter. Buck was dead and couldn’t go to jail for it. And it was his now. Christ, what the hell was he going to do with that kind of money? He already had more than he knew what to do with from a steady paycheck and hazard pay.

+

+

He went back to the hotel to shower and change, and to have a good long think about what the _hell_ Buck had meant by leaving what increasingly felt like a pile of 2.6 million burdens to him, and how he might get rid of it.

It was close to 9 by the time he got to Darcy’s bar, and the regular crowd had clearly shown up in force. Wednesday’s, apparently, were a reasonably busy night. A guy that looked like he’d been around since before the flood was playing an old guitar like it was his lover on a little platform in one corner that served as a stage. The music was excellent and, even though the bartender was a bit over worked, the scenery was great. He grinned as she slid him a pint without asking him what he wanted, tossing a smile over her shoulder and deliberately pushing her hips out in his direction as she leaned over the bar to take an order.

It was past ten before she could take a breath. No early closing tonight, he thought to himself ruefully. But she was a sharp business woman.  With the late night bar licenses in Memphis, she’d be foolish to close while people were still buying. The thought twigged just the barest hint of an idea, but he set it aside, because Darcy was propping herself against the counter across from him.

“Well hey there, good lookin’” she drawled at him, taking the pint he had just emptied and pouring him a fresh one.

He grinned, “busy night for you,” he took the cold glass.

“Not really for a Wednesday,” she raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Hump day, you know?”

He nearly lost his mouthful of beer.

“So, no ducking out early then?” he asked resignedly.

“Not even for you,” she said, leaning across the bar to plant a swift but relatively chaste kiss on his lips. “Your business go okay?” she asked carefully, as she pulled back.

“Hmmm?” he was momentarily distracted by the smooth curve of her cleavage, “oh, uh…yeah. Ask me again later, would ya?”

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Before she could say anything else, a new wave of customers came in and she was pulled away.

That was okay by Clint. The bar was comfortable. He ended up having a long chat with the guitar player.  The guy introduced himself as Riff, and had apparently been a staple in the Memphis bar scene for far longer than Clint had been alive. When he asked the guy how he ended up playing in Darcy’s bar, he had just raised an eyebrow and said “shit son, I _know_ you know better’n to say no to a woman like _that_.”

+

+

“Riff likes ya,” said Darcy, as she pulled him up the stairs to her apartment, well after 1am.

“S’that a good thing?” he pressed himself against her as she opened the door.

“Haven’t decided yet,” she said with a wicked smirk, pulling him towards the bedroom. “You’ll have to convince me.”

It was slower, this time. They both knew he’d done what he came here to do and couldn’t stay much longer. Her eyes caught his as he moved in her, slow and languid, their skin sticky with the heat. There was too much honesty in the eyes in moments like this. Not his, not if he wanted to hide it. But he had always hated seeing that look of attachment, possession in a woman’s eyes, because it meant she was getting too wrapped up in something Clint couldn’t give her, and he needed to cut and run.

Darcy though, she didn’t want to possess him, didn’t want to be _his_. All he could see in here was that she wanted to be _here_ with him. Nothing more, nothing he couldn’t give.

His orgasm snuck up and his hips jerked, his eyes wide open, looking at her as he came apart.

He felt oddly exposed afterwards, his head pillowed on her chest as he caught his breath, her fingers absently running over the back of his neck.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she asked casually, after the silence had pulled out a little too long.

“Hmmpph,” Clint made a non-committal noise and rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling, “not sure they’re worth your money,” he was stalling, he knew it.

So did she, clearly. “Humor me,” her tone was wry.

“Came through here a fair amount for a few years,” he started carefully, “enough to have connections, deals that went down, unsavory business partners.”

“You? Running with a dangerous crowd? I’m shocked,” she deadpanned, but her fingers wrapped around his wrist in a gentle squeeze.

He grinned in spite of himself, “Least I’m mostly on the right side of the law these days,” he flicked her side before going on. “One of the guys who taught me, and pulled me into a lot of bad shit along the way, he left me a bunch of money.”

“Oh,” she said carefully, “that’s kind of heavy.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it,” it came out a bit more honest than he had meant, because it was weighing on him.

“I’d like to,” she said softly, rolling over and pressing against his side, “if you wanna talk about it.”

And, he found, he kind of _did_.

“It’s just...Buck is complicated, for me. The man half raised me, but I have never been so scared as I’ve been in some of the shitty bars and backrooms he dragged me into in this city. He wanted me to…”

“Use your powers for evil?” Darcy supplied with a raised eyebrow as he trailed off. He grinned as she pressed a kiss to his chest.

“I suppose.” He let out a breath. “I blame him for a lot of shit, you know. Mostly that he was never…that I never had…” he paused, half because he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, half because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it. “I never had a home.” He settled on finally, “never had a stable place, you know? Even New York, I live there, but it’s still an op, really. I feel like I haven’t been off duty since I was fourteen sometimes.” He realized, with a bone deep weariness, that it was truer than he’d like.

Darcy’s hand tracked across his chest to wrap around his shoulder.

“Not my place to tell you anything,” her voice was soft and muffled against his skin, “but you could be off duty here, if you like, just for tonight.”

The words tugged at something, low in his gut, and he pulled her into his arms, more sharply than he intended. “Darce,” it was half of a question, breathed hot against her hair. She just leaned up to capture his mouth, licking between his lips, demanding and focused. And the way she gasped when his hand slipped between her thighs to press into her made him feel lighter.

+  


+

He called in while she was asleep, boneless and sprawled beside him, her hair half covering her face. She looked younger like this, the sharp edges she held around herself blurred and softened. He liked it, but mostly because he didn’t think many people got to see it. He couldn’t delay any longer, or there’d be too many questions to answer in New York. Natasha probably already suspected that something had gone sideways. She definitely wouldn’t suspect _this_ though. Clint wasn’t even sure he knew what it was yet. He reached out, ghosting his hand down the pale smooth skin of Darcy’s back.

He would tell Natasha about all of it, he always did. Not the hash of details and rushed excitement like locker room gossip, but the oblique language they had between them. For people like him and Natasha, something like this trip was a gaping hole in the defenses, visible as a beacon for anyone who knew where to look. You didn’t hide your weak points from your partner, and anything else between him and Natasha had been bled away years ago.

The idea that had grabbed him the night before in the bar had started to grow, though. Everyone had gaps in the line, soft spots. That’s how you stayed human in this business. He was starting to think he’d be just fine with his soft spot being tucked away in Memphis.

“mhhph?” Darcy made a bleary noise, and he realized that his hand had drifted south to the generous curve of her ass. He grinned, squeezing gently and drawing an indignant noise from her.

“Sorry to wake you,” he tucked his comm back into his jeans which lay beside the bed. “Just arranging my ride.”

She turned over to face him, and he was distracted for a moment by the way her breasts moved and settled. “When do you have to go?” there was a bit of a pout on her lips, but no demanding or hurt on her face.

“Not for a few hours yet,” he said, reaching out to tuck his hand into her hair and pull her in for a kiss. She hummed against his mouth, scooting a bit closer.

“Breakfast?” she asked as she pulled away.

“In a bit,” he agreed easily, working a knee between her legs and pulling her up flush against him. She let out a low down, lazy moan that made him smile at the same time as it made his cock jump against her belly.

“Well good _morning_ ,” she whispered against his ear, before pulling the lobe between her teeth, her hand snaking down between them to wrap around his hardening erection. He let out a pleased grunt before grabbing her hands and flipping her into her back, pinning them above her head.

“Patience, Lewis,” he growled at her, well pleased by her dilated pupils and the sleepy flush creeping up her cheeks, “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

+

+

They walked slowly, hand in hand, in no hurry for Clint to get where he was going. In the end, they hadn’t had time for anything but to grab a bagel and coffee on the way. That was fine by him, he had no regrets. Their time had been much better spent.

He drew to a stop at the corner as they approached the cab stand they had been heading for.

“I have something to ask you,” he started abruptly, barreling forward before he could talk himself out of this.

She looked at him in surprise. “Clint,” she asked warily, “you’re not about to ruin everything are you?”

He grinned, “No. At least I hope not.” He swallowed, “I’ve got a business proposition for you.”

Her eyebrows climbed up to her hairline, “a _what_?”

“Well,” he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, already sweating in the heat, “the money that Buck left me. It was kind of a lot actually.”

“What’s a lot,” she asked carefully after a pause.

“$2.6 million,” he said bluntly.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Darcy swore enthusiastically, and then she grinned, “I shoulda made you take me shopping last night.”

He chuckled, “I had other plans.” He thoroughly enjoyed the way she blushed at his pointed expression.

“Fair enough,” she sounded a little breathless, “so what are you going to do?”

“Well I have no earthly use for that kind of money, not right now. Conspicuous purchases don’t really go along with my line of work. Well,” he paused, “not unless you’re Stark. So I thought I’d invest it.”

Now she was looking at him warily.

“I don’t want you to buy my bar for me Barton,” she said sharply.

He shook his head at her, “I don’t want to do that either.” He said, “I want _you_ to buy the bar. I just want a piece of its success.”

“Clint…” she started hesitantly.

“Just hear me out,” his tone was careful, “I don’t exactly know all the fine print works, but I was thinking maybe I could buy in as a silent partner. I’d be legally obliged to stay out of running the business. The way you run that place, Darce, it’s a sound investment. If I’m gonna put the money somewhere, might as well go where it’s going to make itself useful, right?”

“You’d really sign away any rights to ownership?” there was an undertone of hopefulness in her voice now.

“I’m just in it for the money,” he said firmly with a grin.

“I’m gonna have to talk to a lawyer,” she said firmly, “get something official drawn up before _anything_ happens, but okay.”

“Okay?” he asked with an excitement he hadn’t expected, his hands falling to her hips.

“Yeah, okay.” She agreed with a grin that she couldn’t seem to hide. He picked her up, crushing her against him, sealing to deal with his lips against her, his tongue on her teeth, her taste in his mouth. Not the most professional of handshakes, but that was okay by him

“It’s a business deal though,” she said a bit breathlessly as he set her down, “it doesn’t mean anything about you and me,” she looked up at him with a hand on his chest, her expression more vulnerable that he thought she realized.

“Yeah,” he agreed easily, “of course. I don’t expect anything from you Darce.”

He hoped she could see that he meant it. He thought maybe she did, the way the tension left her frame and she relaxed against him. He thought maybe it would be okay to try to push his luck a little bit.

“Course, as a conscientious investor, I thought I might want to come down and check the place out now and again, if that’s okay with you?”

She grinned up at him, rolling her eyes as she tugged him along the sidewalk towards the taxi stand, “like I could stop you,” she said. “Besides, I hear you’re supposed to keep your investors happy.” Her grin turned wolfish as she tucked a hand into his back pocket.

It didn’t feel all that difficult to say goodbye to her as he folded her into his arms and pressed a kiss against her hair. No promises, nothing to tie anyone down, just a place he knew he could come back to. For a man like him, that was enough. It was a whole hell of a lot, actually.

+

+

It was a good two months before all the paperwork for his little investment went through, and another few weeks before he could get away from New York.

He flew commercial this time, and the way the heat wrapped around him as he walked out of the airport, and the way his breath rushed out of him all at once when he caught sight of her, leaning against an old beat up volkswagon, felt a little bit like home.

 


	3. Ma'am I Am Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britt1975 prompted me over on Tumblr for Darcy and Clint one year into their partnership. It went better than I could ever have expected.

Muriel plays Piano every night at the Hollywood

And they brought me down to see her and they asked me if I could

Well do a little number, and I played with all my might

She said, "tell me are you a Christian son," and I said "Ma'am I am tonight."

\- Walking in Memphis (Marc Cohn)

 

 

She was sitting in the pick-up zone so early that the traffic cops had sent her around the loop six times. She was jumpy, had been ever since she had seen the news last week; shaky cellphone video followed by endless 24 hour news streams of the Avengers in Hong Kong. Someone, she hadn’t really cared who to be honest, was trying to take control the oil supply that ran under the South China Sea. Hong Kong, apparently, seemed as good a battle ground as any to them.

She caught the odd flash of purple in some of the higher quality shots, but even if she couldn’t see him, she knew he was there. There were some shots of Captain America and Iron Man looking pretty beat up.

Clint didn’t have a metal suit or a genetically engineered physique.

She was worried. Maybe terrified, but she wouldn’t admit it.

And then she got a text from him, not an hour after the news coverage had wound down. “Got some enforced leave coming at me, can I come see you?”

She said yes, because how could she not? But now she was worried for a whole new reason.

For a year now, they had had a good thing going on. He had come down for a weekend six or seven times, they talked on the phone sometimes. Once they met up for a particularly memorable week in Malibu.

He had loaned her the money to buy her bar, but there wasn’t an inch of it she felt like she owed him. There wasn’t an inch of _her_ that she felt like she owed him. No one had any ownership, only a claim marked out in rough stakes and removable flagging tape. No foundations, no walls.

But the way her heart leapt into her throat when she saw him on the news, the way she hadn’t been sleeping, the way her hands itched to hold him and reassure herself that he was really okay…the bastard had slipped a foundation stone in there when she wasn’t looking. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

She had wound herself up into a pile of tension over the last few days, and now he was here, or at least his flight was, and she was waiting in the same spot she always did feeling very different than every other time before.

And then she saw him push out of the airport doors, his rucksack on a cart rather than slung over his shoulders, but from here he looked whole and solid. He caught sight of her, shading his eyes from the sun, and she could see the way his whole face lit up from across the traffic.

And just like that, a little part of the worry she had been working at melted away and that loose and comfortable way he had about him came creeping up on her like a wave. Like the way the summer heat could creep up on you: unnoticed until one day, all of a sudden, you wanted to strip down and run in head first.

Up close, she could see why he wasn’t carrying his bag. One arm was wrapped from elbow to wrist in a thick white bandage. She could see a long row of stiches hiding just under his hair line at his temple, she was sure by the way he was walking stiffly, favoring his right leg, that she would find more later.

“Hey,” she said quietly, the way her gut clenched to see him hurt not making her feel any easier about the way he had worked into her life. She turned to pick up his bag and moved towards her open trunk.

“S’that any way to greet a man just home from the wars?” he asked with his familiar sardonic grin.

The fact that Clint was willing to call it a war rather than just another day on the job spoke more to her than almost anything else. She could worry about what had happened to her free and independent heart later.

She dropped the bag with what she would never admit was a chocked back sob and threw herself into his arms. He seemed surprised and let out a little huff that could have been pain at the impact, but he was steady and strong on his feet, and his arms wrapped around her, settling on her hips with a firm and familiar grip as she tangled her fingers through his hair and kissed him like she thought she would never get to again.

After a moment, he pulled back, his hand sliding up to cup her face, his thumb brushing at the damp trail she was going to refuse to acknowledge.

“Hey now,” he said softly, “you be careful or I might start to think that you miss me when I leave.”

She laughed a little damply at his amused expression, softened by the way he was looking at her. She had some cliché thoughts about an oasis in the desert, but pushed them aside.

“Come on soldier,” she said, unwinding herself from around him, “let’s get you somewhere where you can lie down. You look half torn to pieces.”

“You trying to get me into bed Miss Lewis?” he said with a grin, tossing his good arm rather gingerly around her shoulder.

“If you can manage anything other than falling asleep, Barton, I’ll be incredibly impressed.”

+

+

She was right, as usual. His feet were barely out of his boots before he stretched out on the couch and went out like a light.

It was doing something for her, though, just to have him there. She went on with her day, paid some bills, started some dinner, started putting together the bar order and forced her worry away by concentrating on the rhythm of Clint’s slow and steady breathing.

By the time he started stirring, it was evening and the sun had sunk just below the horizon. She was sitting at the kitchen table feeling calmer, but also heavier in a way. Things between her and Clint had been very light for a good year. She didn’t think they were going to be able to ignore the weight of it much longer.

She let him walk up behind her without turning around, her gaze fixed out of the window. One thing that she had learned over a year of doing whatever this thing was with Clint Barton is that there was no putting anything past him. Whether he chose to acknowledge everything he noticed or take any action on it was a whole different story. But he noticed things. He could probably tell just by the tension in her shoulders and the angle of her spine half of the things she was thinking.

He stood close behind her, his hands falling on her shoulders, fingers curling around to press against her collarbones, bending to press a soft kiss against her hair.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said in a raw, self-deprecating tone. “That never means anything good for me.”

She took a long slow breath. So he wasn’t just going to let it go. It was for the best really. This thing they were doing only really worked if they were both on the same page, and somewhere along the line she had slipped her finger behind the next one and only had a sentence or two to go before she had to flip to the next part.

“If something had happened to you,” she said slowly, “I mean, something…something where you couldn’t call me, would anyone know? Would I ever know?” She struggled valiantly, but her throat gave a little hitch that she knew he would hear.

“Oh Darce,” he pulled her up by her shoulders and pulled her so she could tuck her face into his shoulder, his arms pulling tight against her spine. “You would know. Nat knows. She’d know to call you first.”

“I never meant for any of me to belong to anyone else,” she said after a moment.

She heard him pull in a stiff breath, and his fingers flexed against her. And then he took a step away.

“I know,” he said, “I knew that was part of the deal. If I’ve…maybe I shouldn’t have come. I can go.”

“No,” she said quickly, reaching out to catch his good hand, squeezing tightly, “that’s not what I meant.”

He looked so relieved, and it made it a bit easier to press forwards.

“I didn’t really realise, not until I saw the news about Hong Kong…I didn’t know how much I…how much you…” she floundered. There was no taking it back once it was said.

Clint didn’t press the conversation, he didn’t ask the question, he just kissed her, his injured arm pulling her sharply against him, his good hand digging into her hair and pulling with almost painful force, his mouth crashing into hers like victory and submission and a million battles that they were both going to win, in the end.

She gripped the fabric of his shirt, not sure if she was holding on or trying to rip it apart, but there was something violent about it either way. His hand was at the back of her head, holding her close as his tongue pressed into her mouth, their teeth clicking as they pressed forward. She thought she tasted blood in his mouth and she couldn’t care less.

“Darce,” he gasped, pulling away for a moment, his hips pressed into hers, “I need…please…”

She groaned a low noise of assent as he squeezed her hip in a way that was sure to leave bruises, a five fingered mark of possession that she didn’t care to dispute.

They weren’t going to make it to the bedroom and the kitchen table wasn’t an option in his current state, so the couch would have to do.

She tore his shirt over his head as he pushed her in halting steps, heedless of her fingernails against his skin, devouring him as if his breath was the only air she had to breathe.

Her knees hit the couch and she paused only to pull off her t-shirt and tear off her bra before she sat back against the couch, pulling him with her. He let out a low grunt of pain as his leg bashed against the arm rest, but it was drowned against her skin as he bit down on her collar bone, trailing wetly down to her breast, pulling at her nipple with his teeth, causing her to cry out and press up against him, his erection digging into her thigh.

“I thought,” Clint breathed as he slipped a hand down the front of her pants, cupping her sex, his blunt fingers pressing against her through the cotton of her panties, “that I was never going to hear the way you said my name again.” He circled her clit through the soaked fabric, “That was the thing I thought of first, what I would miss most.”

“Clint,” she breathed, her pelvis twitching towards him.

“Yeah,” he murmured, pressing his mouth just below her ear, “just like that.”

“Don’t ever _,_ ” she whispered, struggling with the button on his jean, “don’t you _ever_ think about nevers again.” She shoved his zipper down and slipped her hands under his boxers. He obligingly lifted his hips and let her shove his pants and boxers down, helping her pulled them off and throwing them to the floor.

“I promise,” he said, skating his teeth over her ribs, pausing to nip at her belly, “I promise,” he repeated, his legs curled against the armrest of the couch as her tugged at her pants, pulling them far enough to let him press his mouth against the curls at the apex of her thighs, his tongue finding her clit with unerring accuracy as she cried out at the contact.

Her fingers wound through his hair as he pressed his tongue flat against her, already chasing the edge of her orgasm.

“Clint,” she said again, “Clint, please.” She tugged him upwards. This wasn’t a time for a slow build up or a careful demonstration of just how slow and careful he could be in the way he made her fall apart.

He let himself be pulled, and let her kick off her pants, and let her toss her underwear to the floor, and let her take him in her hand and guide him into her, and then he took every last piece of control that she had.

She could see, in a distant and vague way, that he was hurt. His leg was bandaged and raw. He was bruised and battered. Abrasions covered his rough and calloused skin. But she wouldn’t have known it by the way he moved in her, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world as thrust his hips into her like she was a secret to discover.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of his, not even as her eyelids fluttered when he hit that spot inside her that made her want to scream.

It didn’t take long before she was twitching around him, his thumb reaching for her clit for a few rough strokes before she came, crying out his name as he grunted and spasmed against her, spilling himself and falling exhausted on her chest.

They lay there for a long time, their breathing slowly calming, the sweat of their skin cooling against each other as the moment settled.

“We should talk about this,” she said finally, because she didn’t know what else to day.

“Tomorrow,” he said immediately. “Right now I just need to fall asleep beside you knowing I’m going to wake up with you tomorrow.” He paused, “If that’s okay,” he finished, rolling off of her with a little groan, standing up, and offering his hand.

“Tomorrow,” she echoed, taking his hand and letting herself be led to the bedroom. They fell under the sheets and he gathered her to his chest without ceremony. She fell asleep more easily that she had in months, with his warmth against her back and the slow and reassuring sound of his breath in her ear.

+

+

She blinked into awareness slowly, the heat of the day making it impossible to pretend she was still asleep any longer. Clint was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed, looking at her in a way she didn’t recognise.

“Coffee’s on,” he said with a smile, “whenever you’re ready, sleeping beauty.”

“What time is it?” she mumbled, stretching luxuriously, profoundly grateful now that she had told her staff at the bar that she was off duty for a few days.

“Almost 10:00,” he said, “You just looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you.”

It was later than she’d slept in years.

“Jesus, sorry. I can’t believe I slept so long.” She sat up abruptly, clutching the sheet to her chest is a meaningless gesture of propriety. He quirked his lips at her.

“Darcy Lewis, it is a privilege just to watch the news in your apartment,” he said. And then he left her to pull on some sweatpants and a tank top, rolling that statement over in her head, along with the things that were said the night before.

She breezed past him into the kitchen to get herself a cup of coffee and take a long sip of it before she wandered back to sit beside him on the couch.

“So,” she said heavily, “last night.”

“Last night,” he echoed slowly, turning off the T.V.

There was a long stretch of silence.

“You called me. You called me right after the news stopped broadcasting you. It must have been pretty fast…” she started.

“It was,” he answered immediately, “you must have been watching.” He wasn’t looking at her, just focused straight ahead.

“I was,” she said.

There was another pause.

“Look,” she said finally with a breathy sigh, “This isn’t what I intended it to be anymore. I don’t know what metaphors you superheroes are using these days, but I feel like the game has changed, and we should probably talk about that, right?”

 

There wasn’t even a pause before his chin dipped and he agreed, “Yeah.”

 

She blew out a slow breath, because she was about to change all the unspoken rules that had been laid down at the beginning of this thing. And she knew that that gave him a free pass to pull chute and back out. But she didn’t want him too. And that was terrifying. But she had been his first call. And she figured that was a good a place as any to start.

 

“You called me,” she said, “you called me right after.”

There was a drawn out pause.

“You were the only one I wanted to call,” he said eventually.

“Well all of your other people were there,” she tried with an attempt at a grin.

“Even if they weren’t,” he said looking down at his hands, “This isn’t just a place to land for me anymore.”

And she was sort of stunned for a moment, because she had never expected him to take the leap. It made it a bit easier to do the same.

“I’m glad,” was what came out as she reached out and took his hand, “because if you ever stopped landing here, I’d be sad.”

There was a long silence as his fingers twined in hers.

“How long is your leave,” she asked finally.

“Until I heal up,” he said slowly, “probably at least a month.”

“Will you stay?” she asked. The words came out quickly, but she felt like she’d been considering them for a year.

“Yes.” His only reaction was a convulsive squeeze of her hand.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

“ _You’re_ my people,” he said.

“You’re mine,” she agreed, easily now. “I couldn’t breathe the whole time it was on the news.” She admitted.

“D’you think,” he paused for a moment, “D’you think you’d want to come to New York and meet everyone?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I’d want to.”

“Okay,” he said, his expression settling in a way she couldn’t remember having seen before.

“Okay,” she repeated, and she felt like he settled into a place in her life that no one had ever been before.

+

+

Later that night, she had to go in to the bar to put in a shift. He sat at the bar, and she brought him a glass of her best whisky.

“Happy anniversary,” she said, leaning over the bar to kiss him in front of all of her regulars.

“That was weeks ago,” he said, looking confused “I mean, the first time we…”

She grinned with a raised eyebrow. She should have known he would be counting the days from that.

“A year ago today, you made it possible for me to buy the bar,” she clarified, “it meant a lot to me.”

“Oh,” he said, looking a bit chagrined, “Right.” He paused. “Do we have to call that out anniversary?” he finally asked.

She laughed out loud at the expression on his face.

“Happy belated then,” she said, and kissed him again, remembering the rain on her skin from the first time.

When she pulled away, she thought he mighthave a hard time telling her his own name in that moment. And she smiled to know that he had built a foundation in her, and that a wall was rising higher and higher every day. And the finality and permanency of it wasn’t frightening anymore, but hopeful.

 


End file.
